


Journey's End

by DixieDale



Series: The Enchanted Forest [8]
Category: Hogan's Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 07:47:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17484056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: First, there was the delay, understandable of course, and unavoidable, considering the circumstances.  They had both expected that.  But then, it looked as if it wasn't simply a delay, but a wall that had come crashing down, locking itself in place between them.  It was perhaps ironic, since the walls and barbed wire and all else had not been able to keep them apart in wartime, but now, when peace had finally come, the wall between them seemed insurmountable.





	Journey's End

***  
Karl Langenscheidt was a German soldier, a guard at a prisoner of war camp, and no matter how many recommendations Hogan and the others gave him (along with the ones they gave Schultz and the others at Stalag 13), there was still the processing once the camp was liberated. And not everyone understood or agreed with the special treatment, and . . . 

Well, that was all something Karl preferred not to think on, preferred not to dwell on. He had finally been allowed to disappear into the woodwork, had made his way to a place of relative safety, and then let his mind go to the task that lay ahead, to where his soul urged him to be. Finding his Oliphisia, his friend, his beloved. 

Part of him, the part wounded by the war and the hard reality he'd seen, been a part of, warned him that Colin Olsen might not want to see him again, that the odd friendship and bond they had shared had surely been only a transitory thing, born of the war and the forest. The dreamer in him, however, the dreamer still believed in the words and smiles and sweetness they had shared, and it was the dreamer who began the search.

That was not an easy thing; the idea of an ex-German soldier looking for information on an ex-Allied prisoner of war was something that would not go over well with anyone. His motives would be questioned, he knew that, and he had no interest in answering any questions; his memories of prior questioning, by the Gestapo, then by the Allies, made that a very firm goal.

So it was not a simple thing, not a quick thing. In the end, it was a seemingly impossible thing, each new path becoming only one more dead end. 

He despaired, thought he could not go on alone, and those around him seemed somehow both unwelcoming and cloyingly attentive. He avoided them all, whatever their intent, and sought peace in his old place of refuge - his imagination, his stories.

Then he knew peace wasn't possible, not there, so he packed up his stories and his one small suitcase and moved on, this time to a city, thinking in the crowds he could lose himself, perhaps reinvent himself. That wasn't to be, and soon there was another move, this time to a small place where he was unknown, except by the name Karl Lang, budding writer. There he could write his stories and dream his dreams of what they had promised each other, of what should have been. "Perhaps we dreamed of more than what was possible, more than what we should have asked for," he told himself sadly, but still the dreams were there. 

He would have returned to the forest near Hammelburg, a place of enchantment that had given him so much, had given him the dream in the first place, if only to visit, to pour out his heart to whoever, whatever had once listened to him. But it was forbidden to any who could not give a clear reason why it was necessary to enter that area so near the camp, and being a writer of stories did not meet that criteria, and his travels were carefully monitored, like so many others who had been released with such reservations. His having been a guard at that camp would have made his presence even more suspect.

He was in communication with very few from those days, one of those being his former sergeant, Hans Schultz. There had been letters, and in one of those, written when he was at a very low ebb, he had told of his desire to walk the forest path again, to ask it to tell him the stories again, to ask for its guidance once again, perhaps to help him find what he valued but had lost. Oh, he had been careful of how he worded that; he was sure his mail was being watched, as much as his travels were. Perhaps it was paranoia, perhaps not. Most who survived the war had a goodly share of such.

He expected nothing other than perhaps a comforting word, for Schultz had always been forthcoming with those. So it was with deep surprise he took the package that had been delivered for him, the package marked "Schatze Toy Company". 

He smiled at the doll enclosed, for it was very beautiful, though why Schultz had sent him such a thing he could not imagine. And she was beautiful, a queen surely, dressed in an intricately fashioned garment of rich green velvet, golden crown of leaves in her hair - her hair the color of the burnished red of the forest in autumn. He turned the doll one way and then another, marveling at the detail, then stilling at the small plate on the base. "The Queen of the Enchanted Forest" Limited Edition.

The box contained a small elegantly scribed descriptive card, "The Queen of the Enchanted Forest is eternal for those who believe. To aid in that belief, a small piece of the forest itself is fashioned into the Queen's image. May the dreams and stories she brings you be filled with joy."

Now he sat down and looked in earnest, finally touching the small figures attached to the base of the doll - a silver mushroom, a small grey squirrel, a dark walnut. His fingers seemed to know, and with a touch the walnut slid open, where no more than a tablespoon of equally dark soil lay. He touched one hesitant finger to it, before making his way to the other figures. The squirrel held a cluster of pine seeds in his mouth, and Karl knew somehow that if he planted them, they would grow. The mushroom held its furled ribs underneath, and those gave equal promise of life. The small gilt purse she carried held a tiny vial of water, and he knew it was from the pond he'd looked into so often. That Schultz would have done this was a gift beyond all imagining, and he wondered how the ex-soldier, now toymaker, had managed it, how he had known what to gather.

The next day he searched the local shops til he found the right thing, a long wooden rectangular box of black walnut, no more than eight inches deep. That was quickly followed by a hardwood bowl, cleverly shaped and carved, not overly large, just big enough to fill a small space at the end of his precious box. Stones he gathered from here and there, and small chips of wood and pine straw, small segments of various mosses and many other oddments, and one fine spring day sat down at his kitchen table to recreate the magic.

It took some delicate work, some careful refashioning, but in the end there was a small pool, which he carefully filled with water, then ever so slowly emptied the tiny vial of water from the forest pool to mix in with what was there. The rest was filled with fresh soil, with the tiny bit of forest soil from that walnut lightly sprinkled over it evenly, then gently stirred in with a matchstick. The pine seeds were planted at one side, the spores from the mushroom scattered elsewhere, and warm water drizzled over all. A wandering pathway was formed from small stones and wood chips, pine straw scattered here and there, mosses carefully arranged, and at the rear, on the highest portion, the queen stood in regal splendor, keeping watch over all. 

And in front of that piece of the forest he sat each morning, then again each evening, remembering, thinking, wishing, and somehow it gave him ease. Sometimes, in the silence, he could hear almost a faint whisper, "soon", and he would feel the touch of a gentle hand touching his hair, and again the words, "soon". And when the first tiny glimpse of life came to that miniature scene, he thought it might indeed be soon, the fulfilling of his dream.

 

***  
Colin Olsen was more than a little frustrated. No matter where he turned, he was given blank stares and denial of any knowledge of the whereabouts of one Karl Langenscheidt. The idea of an ex-Allied prisoner of war looking for information on an ex-German soldier, especially one who had been a guard at the camp where the prisoner of war had been held captive - that raised more red flags than a march in Red Square in Moscow!

His parents were bewildered, telling him "this isn't a healthy thing, Colin. It's over and done, the war. You can't let your mind rest on vengeance." They were even more bewildered at his trying to explain, cautiously, very carefully, that the man he was looking for was a friend, not an enemy; had indeed saved his life, been injured in doing so. No, they didn't understand, thought he was just ashamed at his lingering resentment; actually, he was just frustrated by the fact that they didn't seem to try very hard to listen to him, to really hear him.

At least they had stopped their incessent match-making; he had been openly rude to that last young lady, and he had overheard his mother telling his frustrated father, "perhaps it is too soon, Lars. We need to give him time." How could he have explained that all the time in the world wouldn't be enough? It took only a few weeks before the hints started again, the offhand, ever so casual introductions.

FInally he had had enough of their hinting, and with the help of his youngest sister Rose and his oldest sister Karin, he had let Oliphisia come forth, and he introduced himself to his parents and his other sisters as his alter-ego. While it had stopped their match-making attempts completely and their hinting, it had created a new tension, enough he and his middle sisters had little to say to each other, and he and his parents nothing at all. It wasn't as if this should have been a total shock to them, at least he didn't think so, and he was more than a little shocked himself that it appeared to be so. If ever he needed proof that they had never really heard him, that was more than enough.

He heard their fervent request that he tell no one else, and never show himself that way again. He agreed, at least for the time being, Oliphisia being too much a memory of the one he'd left behind, the memory of one he was having no luck in finding now. He'd come upon his mother in his small rented room, fingering the dress Oliphisia had worn, hands gripping as if to rip it to shreds {"as if that would change anything!"}, his father just starting to open his journal, and he let them see an anger they had never seen before. Their outrage matched his own, and there was silence between them afterwards, a silence neither could seem to find a way to break.

The idea had come to Colin in the night, along with a dream of the forest and its richly scented air and that dark pool. Perhaps finding an ex-German soldier might be an impossible task, but finding an ex-American soldier? An ex-British soldier? That surely would be possible! There had been only one man who knew, who would understand his search, and that was Andrew Carter. Whether Andrew had any way of helping, Colin didn't know, but it was all he had left. He remembered enough of the camp, remembered the stories about the castle, about what had transpired there. He remembered more, too, about those letters Newkirk's Caeide had written, the letters Caeide's younger sister had written Andrew - there had been magic in those letters as well - he had seen that even if some of the others had not. Newkirk might be willing to help too, even without understanding the why and wherefore of it all. Well, he'd been unable to trace Newkirk; he seemed to have dropped off the face of the earth just as completely as Karl had. But perhaps, just perhaps, Andrew . . . 

Andrew had fingered the letter, reading the words over and over again, reading just as easily what had not been said, what couldn't safely have been said. Finally he nodded firmly. There was a debt there, more than one, and he knew just who could help repay it. He searched through his letter box to that last one he'd gotten from Coura, and started to put the play into motion.

 

Awkward was certainly the word for it, that first meeting. Well, for the first ten seconds, then the mutual laughter, the strong arms reaching out for each other in that private room that had been arranged by that smiling redhead. Then it ceased to be 'awkward', that term fading in favor of words like 'joyous' and many others of that sort.

And eventually cautious plans were made, for introducing Karl to the family, trying for at least a superficial acceptance of what would now be Colin's future at Karl's side. And it seemed that might be a small step forward, the agreement to a meeting over coffee in the lobby of the hotel. Oh, not the hotel where Karl and his sponsors were staying, but the one across the way and down a couple of blocks. It seemed the O'Donnell sisters were not the trusting sort.

Colin's sister Rose tapped at the door and whispered the news. "I know they said they would meet him, Colin, give him a chance, but please, you must not! Leave, both of you, quickly! Father has strong ideas, and friends with similar ideas. They were calling about to try to locate you both; it is only a matter of time before they do. It is not . . . safe! Not for him, perhaps not for you." 

She'd glanced at the two women who was sitting so calmly taking all of this in, at the man standing there with such uncertainty on his face, and flushed. She had faced a difficult decision, one that would not sit well with her family, but she loved her brother dearly and thought he had as much right to live his life as he saw fit as she herself did. She knew her own plans for her future would not be pleasing to any except perhaps Karin.

The women, who had been introduced only as Coura and Ciena, had nodded in quick understanding.

"You are a good sister, I think, Rose. Colin, I believe you must listen to her good advice. You know, we anticipated something like this, and planned for the possibility."

And he had listened in resignation, though he'd had hopes of an amicable, well, to some small extent anyway, resolution with his parents and his sisters. He and Karl and the sisters had been off and gone by the time Rose had reached the lobby, the women having had them packed and ready just for such a development.

The men with the strong ideas, and strong hands, and strong inclinations to use both, finally arrived to find an empty room and not a trace of those who'd been there.

 

It was only the start of their travels, for they had determined to return to the enchanted forest, there to give their thanks to whoever or whatever had given them so much. How the sisters had managed to get permission, neither Karl nor Colin ever knew, and frankly they didn't care. It was enough that they had, enough that the two were able to walk that path once more, stand beside that pool once more, and whisper their gratitude to the breeze.

Then, it was to Karl's home, where he tidied up his affairs, packed what he wanted to take with him (mostly his manuscripts and notes). Well, in addition to the miniature forest, with its tiny tree seedlings and clusters of tiny mushrooms and its dark pond, of course.

Finally, they stepped out of that small plane and were taken to a small house nestled up against the outskirts of yet another forest, one of many such houses they'd passed along the way.

"This forest also has the reputation for being somewhat magical, and probably has more than a few new stories to tell you, Karl. I think you will like it here. The others here, they are Family, Friends, and you will be welcomed, I assure you of that, whether YOU choose to be Colin or Oliphisia or perhaps both in turn. The ways here are different; our cousin L'Terra will visit, tell you what you need to know, wish to know. You can mingle as much or as little as you choose; your life is your own to live in your own way, though there are restrictions on what you may disclose to outsiders, of course, about this place and your neighbors."

"We owe you, Karl, Colin, on behalf of Peter and of Andrew and the others we consider ours. Be at home here, for as long as you wish, and if you find you prefer a different place, we will try to make that happen as well. But know you are welcome to be a part of our Family and Friends here, always."

She had departed, and the door had closed behind her, and together they looked around at what would be their new home. Their new home TOGETHER. And there was no awkwardness between them, nor between those who shared this magic place, not the least little bit. 

In fact, the day came when Colin found Karl moving the walnut box outside, sitting it gently into a space he had dug at the very edge of the forest. 

"Karl?"

"I believe it is what they wish, Colin. At least, that is what my dreams tell me."

"They?" Colin asked, puzzled though not disbelieving. Too much had occured for him to be disbelieving.

Karl Langenscheidt, Karl Lang, gentle reached out to touch the elegant Queen. "Her, the Queen of the forest we knew, and the King of this forest. It is what they want."

And Colin had just nodded, and knelt down to help in carefully placing the miniature forest just right.

And in time, the forest that had been there for longer than memory could tell, edged forward to enclose the piece of the forest from so far away and they joined to become one. And the magic grew and enriched all who believed.


End file.
